DE the country road with truant
Wild carrot lifts its circles of white lace.
From vines whose interwoven branches
The old stone walls, come pungent scents of grape.
The sumach torches burn; the hardhack glows;
From off the pines a healing fragrance blows;
The pallid Indian pipe of ghostly
Listens in vain for stealthy moccasin.
In pensive mood a faded robin sings;
A butterfly with dusky, gold-flecked
Holds court for plumy dandelion
And thistledown, on throne of fireweed.
The road goes loitering on, till it hath
Its way in goldenrod, to keep a tryst,
Beyond the mosses and the ferns that
The last faint lines of its forgotten trail,
With Lonely Lake, so crystal clear that
May see its bottom sparkling in the
With many-colored stones.
The only
On its green banks is of the
Dipping for prey, but oft, these haunted nights,
That mirror shivers into dazzling lights,
Cleft by a falling star, a
From some bright battle lost,
Excalibur.
